Fujiwara Chiya sat alone in a bar, drinking in silence. A senior with a mustache set his glass down.
"Chiya, if you ask me, you should talk to the director and take a few days off. In your current state, you're not suited to keep working as a trainer. You'll only end up dragging them down—and yourself with them."
"I've thought about that too," Fujiwara Chiya replied, his words slightly unsteady. "Paid leave would be nice. But if I step away, the team I finally managed to build will fall apart again."
At twenty-two, Fujiwara Chiya had earned his Central Trainer License, passed countless rounds of selection, and successfully entered Tracen Academy. By most standards, he was already fortunate, yet less than a year into his career, his condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse.
The reason was painfully simple. The Uma Musume under his care had lost their races and terminated their contracts with him.
Two of them.
Strictly speaking, their losses weren't caused by a lack of talent. They were impatient and fiercely competitive, fighting for position early in the race and burning through their stamina. By the final stretch, they had nothing left to give.
Blaming everything on disobedience would be unfair, since getting Uma Musume to follow instructions is part of a trainer's job. But as a newcomer, Fujiwara Chiya's approach was far too gentle and failed to rein them in when it mattered most.
A trainer needs to scold when necessary and punish when required. Disobedient Uma Musume should be sent to the track to run twenty laps. No finishing, no meals, and no carrots for half a month.
A trainer has to establish authority. If you're constantly apologizing and accommodating, who would ever take your words seriously? Only by balancing firmness and kindness can training truly be effective.
Unfortunately, Fujiwara Chiya hadn't grasped this yet. When the responsibility for failure landed on him, both Uma Musume ended their contracts in anger.
From the perspective of someone who had been through it before, his training methods weren't wrong, and some of his ideas were even quite innovative. The real problem was his luck. The two Uma Musume on his team were both stubborn, hot-tempered types who refused to listen.
Their departure hit him hard, and little by little, he began doubting himself. Some days, he rewrote his training schedule three times over.
Seeing his state deteriorate, the senior invited him out for drinks, partly to talk things through and partly to give him some informal guidance.
"Chiya, I was the same back then," the senior said. "My training ability was lacking, and plenty of Uma Musume asked to terminate their contracts with me. But I never gave up. I kept improving myself, day after day. If I hadn't, do you think I'd have trained someone like Inari One?"
"That's because you're capable, senpai."
The senior laughed. "Go ask around. How many people enter Tracen at twenty-two? You can count them on one hand. In terms of ability, you're not inferior to anyone."
He patted Fujiwara Chiya on the shoulder.
"Let me give you some advice. First and foremost, you need confidence. If you don't even believe your own words, how can you expect Uma Musume to believe them?"
Confidence.
"Second, you need to sell the dream."
"Sell the dream?"
"Exactly. Say things like, 'I'll make you the next Triple Crown Uma Musume,' or 'I'll turn you into a world-class racer.' Whether you can pull it off or not comes later. First, give them something to hope for."
"And finally, the most important part: you need to understand what Uma Musume are thinking."
"What they're thinking…"
The senior lifted the bottle and took several heavy gulps.
"You have to read the room, scold them without crushing their pride, punish them without provoking rebellion, reach out when they need help, and comfort them when they fail. Being a trainer is all about balance. Lose that balance, and they'll come to resent you. Or worse, they'll walk away."
Fujiwara Chiya listened, his eyes widening. This was experience earned the hard way.
He didn't know why Tracen trainers seemed to suffer injuries far more often than elsewhere, but the fact that this man had taught there for seven years spoke volumes.
"That's all I have to say," the senior concluded. "If you want to keep working at Tracen, remember it."
"I will."
With a meaningful smile, the senior stood up and left the bar. Fujiwara Chiya watched him go.
Reading the room and understanding others' thoughts really wasn't his strong suit.
As he prepared to leave, a server wearing a headscarf stopped him. Her skin was tanned, and her emerald-green eyes were striking.
"Sir, please settle the bill."
"The bill?" Fujiwara Chiya blinked. "Wasn't my senior treating me?"
"That gentleman didn't pay," she replied with a gentle smile.
Ah. So that smile meant that.
You treat. I pay.
"…How much is it?"
"Ten thousand yen."
"That much? I only had one drink."
"But that gentleman had nine."
"When did he drink that many?"
"While you were slumped over the table saying, 'The team I worked so hard to build fell apart again.'"
Thank you for that helpful reminder.
Suppressing the pain, Fujiwara Chiya handed over the only large bill in his wallet.
"Oh, one more thing," the server added as she took the money. "If you're ever troubled, you could try making a wish to the Three Goddesses. If they're in a good mood, they might help you."
"When in doubt, pray to the gods?"
"Sometimes, relying on divine help isn't such a bad option."
He waved and left the bar.
By the time he returned to Tracen, dusk was settling in, and the plaza in front of the academic building was empty.
Damn it. That old fox.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He thought the senior wanted to help him, but it turned out he just wanted free drinks.
Already depressed, his mood sank even further.
He sat down on a bench beside the fountain and thought it over. The senior wasn't wrong.
Understanding what Uma Musume are thinking.
Honestly, Fujiwara Chiya had never been good at that.
Back in high school, he couldn't even figure out what the girl next to him was thinking. Every time he tried to talk to her, he somehow got scolded, and then on graduation day, she confessed to him.
"I think we'd be a good match."
A good match? You scolded me for three years, and now you say that?
He rejected her without hesitation. She ran out of the school in tears and never contacted him again.
Staring up at the night sky, his gaze drifted toward the statue of the Three Goddesses at the center of the fountain, and the server's words echoed in his mind.
Sometimes, relying on divine help isn't such a bad option.
Gods, huh.
He let out a quiet sigh. If gods who granted wishes truly existed, the world would have been peaceful long ago.
Just as he turned to leave, the server's face surfaced in his mind again, along with those emerald eyes that seemed to see straight through him.
He stopped and reached up to touch the coin hanging around his neck, engraved with a horseshoe. It was a souvenir from the first race he ever watched, and he had carried it ever since.
He removed it.
"Goddess," he murmured, "this is probably the most valuable thing I own. If you can… please grant my wish."
He tossed the coin into the water.
I want an obedient Uma Musume who can understand me. If possible, someone pretty. Someone gentle. Well, she doesn't have to be gentle, just reasonable. Yes, someone like me.
After listing a pile of unreasonable demands, Fujiwara Chiya clapped his hands together and bowed to the statue.
There was no response. Naturally, it was just stone.
What am I doing? Treating this like a wishing fountain?
Watching the coin disappear beneath the water, he gave a bitter smile and left the plaza.
The next morning, just as dawn broke, Fujiwara Chiya opened his eyes.
His head throbbed. It had to be from last night's drinking, but even then, one drink shouldn't have caused this.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
Then he heard a soft, languid sigh beside him.
"Haa…"
What was that?
His eyes flew open, and as he turned toward the sound, his vision seemed to split in two, as though his mind were seeing two scenes at once.
One was a young man with short black hair and gentle features.
The other was a breathtakingly beautiful girl with white hair and blue eyes, fluffy snow-white ears standing atop her head.
Something inside him cracked.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then—
"AAAAH—!!"
Two voices overlapped in a single scream, one soft and clear, the other rough and hoarse, echoing through the trainers' apartment at Tracen.